Inexplicably You
by OneLittleBlueJay
Summary: Neither could have ever imagined falling in love with the other. A collection of oneshots-ErenxLevi, JeanXMarco. Contains spoilers for Kyojin University (my other SnK fanfic)
1. Sunspots

I felt really bad about making you guys wait a long time for another chapter of Kyojin University (which you should totally read if you haven't already), so I whipped up a quick one-shot to keep you guys entertained. Enjoy!

Warning: This contains spoilers for Kyojin University!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin or any of the bishies in it.**

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**Sunspots**

One thing Jean hated about Marco: his freckles.

It wasn't like they made Marco look bad or anything. No, Jean was not the type of guy to judge by appearances. But it was just something about how they stood out against Marco's complexion and a few other things that made Jean…_bothered_.

For instance: the symmetry.

Jean and Marco had gotten coffee a few days before class and were hanging out in the café. Now, Jean wasn't counting or anything, but he could have _sworn_ that Marco had exactly the same number of freckles on each cheek. He could practically make constellations with them! Apparently he had been staring for too long.

"Jean, is there something wrong?" the freckled boy had asked while shifting nervously in his seat "You've been staring at me for the last 5 minutes…"

Jean had just calculated that Marco had 10 freckles on each cheek before Marco had spoken. Whoops.

"It's nothing, I'm just…thinking," he had answered before mentally slapping himself.

_Way to go, Jean. Now Freckled Beauty thinks you're a freak._

Another thing: how many of them were there? Were they only confined to his face? Jean had been pondering these questions all week.

Since school had started in the fall, Jean had rarely seen Marco without long sleeves due to the weather. Jean was in football and Marco was in fencing, so he never got to see Marco in any of the locker rooms (b-but it wasn't like he _wanted_ to see Marco changing, he was just curious about how many freckles he had, dammit!) But today, football practice had been cancelled, opening up an opportunity for Jean to maybe catch Marco changing in or out of his fencing uniform.

He wouldn't barge in and start counting on the spot or anything. He would just watch from afar and see if there were any more freckles anywhere else on Marco's body—_oh my god I sound like a stalker._

Screw it.

Running while keeping an eye on his watch, Jean headed from the football field to the gym—he didn't know _why_ the two places were across campus—and into the locker rooms adjacent the fencing room. Upon entering he almost collided with his roommate, Eren, and quickly ducked into a—closet?—before the brunette noticed anything. Quickly scrambling around to find balance, Jean deduced he was in the closet that held all of the fencing uniforms. There was a little peephole conveniently located near Jean's head.

He pressed his face to the door and looked through the peephole just in time to see Levi, captain of the Recon Fencing Team, reaching for the closet door handle. The football player blanched and pushed himself as far back into the closet as possible behind the uniforms.

Jean had made the mistake of inhaling sharply when Levi had opened the door. The closet _reeked!_

Luckily, Levi didn't seem to notice Jean (now with tears streaming from his stinging eyes due to the overwhelming scent of sweat) and had grabbed his uniform and closed the door. Jean waited a few moments for Levi's footsteps to disappear before he exhaled loudly, coughing and wiping his face. He was getting sweaty from being surrounded by the thick uniforms, and used the sleeve of one of them to wipe his face. Jean had taken a close look at the name on the sleeve.

_Marco Bodt_

Well, wasn't this his lucky day? Since Marco's uniform was still in the closet it meant that he hadn't changed yet which _meant…Yes! _Jean looked through the peephole again and _voila!—_Marco had entered the room and was now getting undressed—

Oh. _Oh._

It had just registered in his mind that Jean was hiding all hot and bothered in a closet watching his best friend taking off his clothes. Jean's face felt really hot. But he wasn't blushing because dammit he was a football player and _football players didn't blush._

Unfortunately, Jean had been too busy focusing on how he _wasn't blushing_ to notice that a now shirtless Marco was opening the door to the uniform closet. So it wasn't really a surprise when a sweaty football player named Jean Kirschtein tumbled out of the closet, clutching what appeared to be Marco's fencing uniform, when said freckled boy had opened the door.

Complete silence as Jean was forced to look at an upside-down Marco's confused face.

"Jean? What are you doing here?" the black-haired boy finally asked after a few more moments of awkwardness.

"I—you—guhbuhduh," Jean responded intelligently. A few more moments as Marco's confused look turned to one of concern.

"What are you doing with my uniform?" When Jean didn't answer again, Marco sighed and walked around to Jean's feet, now facing him right-side up. He extended a hand which Jean took blankly, and pulled the football player to his feet.

"Jean, you need to answer me," Marco said slowly, now looking dead into Jean's eyes. "Are you okay? Are you sick? Do you need me to take you to the infirmary?"

Said football player was trying to look anywhere except Marco's eyes, but couldn't avert his eyes to many other locations because Marco _wasn't wearing a shirt._

Marco frowned, and lifted a hand to place it on Jean's forehead.

_DAMMIT, why is he so cute—_

"You're pretty warm, and your cheeks look pretty red. I think you have a fever—!"

"CAN I COUNT YOUR FRECKLES?" Jean suddenly blurted out. Marco yelped and quickly retracted his hand, eyes wide and fearful.

"W-what?" the freckled boy asked cautiously, suddenly looking self-conscious. Jean must have looked pretty desperate at this point with his eyes pleading, cheeks red, and hands still clutching the sleeve of Marco's uniform. Jean let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, and slumped where he stood.

"I'm sorry, Marco," he started after a moment, "This must be really weird for you, huh?"

Marco nodded. He appeared to be calm, but those expressive eyes had betrayed him. He was still scared. Jean slowly handed Marco's uniform to him and Marco let out a deep breath of his own, clutching the uniform to his chest to sort of cover up his half-nakedness.

"It's just that…this has been bothering me all week," Jean continued, "It's your freckles! I don't know why, but I can't seem to get them off of my mind!" Then he began voicing the questions he had been asking himself all week, "Why are they perfectly symmetrical on your face? Are they only on your face? How did they get there? How many are…there…" Marco was shaking. _Shit, _what had he done?!

And then Marco was laughing.

Jean could only watch, transfixed, as his best friend threw back his head and let loose loud, bright, _beautiful_ laughter. Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes as his whole body shook with chuckles, the lights from the ceiling bringing out each one of those 20 freckles on his face perfectly. Marco had dropped his uniform, which was now pooled around his feet. He looked like an _angel._

"Is that it?" Marco stuttered, still laughing, "You've been worrying all this time about my _freckles?! _Is that why you were in the closet?_"_

"H-hey!" Jean sputtered, "How did you know something was bothering me the whole time?"

"I hate to break it to you, but you've been staring at me at different occasions all week!" Marco said, "I thought you were mad at me or something! But this…this….this takes the cake!"

Jean looked helplessly at the ground as Marco tried to calm himself down, his laughter descending into light chuckles, giggles, and then nothing.

"You know, you can count them if you want," he said quietly, smiling. Jean's head snapped back up.

"Are you serious?" he blurted.

"Well…yeah! I actually have never counted them before," Marco replied, scratching the back of his head, "And I wouldn't mind if you counted them…you could probably count the ones I can't see, anyway."

Okay. Jean was definitely blushing now. Marco looked expectantly at him.

"Well?" he asked, "You can…uh…start, I guess."

Jean gulped, but obliged.

Well, for one thing, Marco definitely had more freckles than what were on his face. Jean began counting the ones on the back of Marco's arms. He made sure to count out loud so Marco could see how many he actually had.

_18, 19, 20…_

Jean went up Marco's arms and then to the back of his neck, not missing the shudder that passed through his best friend when Jean accidentally breathed onto Marco's skin.

_36, 37, 38…_

There were a lot on Marco's back. Jean counted slowly, making sure to touch each one. Occasionally Marco would giggle, try to bat Jean's hands away from behind his back and say, "That _tickles, _Jean."

_61, 62, 63…_

Jean counted all of the ones on his back and circled back to his front. There were only a few on the front of Marco's torso, but Jean made sure not to miss any of them. He blushed when he reached Marco's chest, but continued counting.

_83, 84, 85…_

He continued travelling down until…

"86," Jean whispered, mouth dry.

He had reached Marco's stomach. There was a single freckle right below his navel. Marco was blushing.

"J-Jean," he stuttered, "That's not all of them."

"What?"

"Y-you…you can keep counting if you like." Marco had taken a hold of Jean's hands, gently guiding them to the button of his pants.

_OH MY G-_

"SHITTY BRAT! Why aren't you out there doing footwork? Get moving!" Levi barked, bursting through the doors of the locker room. He froze, seeing the position the two were in—Jean was kneeling in front of Marco, his hands just about to unbutton his pants.

"Oi…I don't want to know _what_ you two are doing, but I suggest you both get out of my locker room in 3…2…"

Levi never had to say "1" in these situations.

While Marco was scrambling to get into uniform in the fencing room, Jean was running back to his dorm as fast as he could, mind reeling from the events that had just happened.

He had almost…he had almost…

_Dammit, he was blushing again!_

One thing Jean loved about Marco: his freckles.

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I hope you guys enjoyed it! Yeah, sorry you didn't get to see Jean count the freckles on Marco's legs-Wait, what? Did you guys think there were freckles somewhere else? You naughty readers~

Until next time,

-Jay


	2. Head Over Heels

Hi everyone! I decided to make this a collection of oneshots between my two favourite SnK couples! Each chapter will alternate between JeanXMarco, and ErenXLevi.

Enjoy this LevixEren oneshot!

Also: please vote on the poll that is on my profile! It's about SnK pairings :3

**Disclaimer: I do not own SnK or any of the bishies in it.**

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**Head Over Heels**

It was Friday night, which meant bad news for Eren Jeager.

Ever since he and Levi had moved in together due to Levi's promotion to a police officer, Levi had been taking liberties with his free time—dangerous liberties.

Now, don't get Eren wrong. Living with Levi was great for the most part. Once Eren had learned to cope with the neat-freak inside of Levi, most nights were rather harmonious. Levi would come home tired, grumbling about whatever new controversy Erwin managed to stir up with the other police officers ("Sometimes I wonder why I stick with the idiot"), and would immediately be met with a cup of tea made by Eren himself (not that he had asked Mikasa for help making it or anything). Then the two would eat dinner, watch TV, and talk about the goings-on at the police department.

But Friday nights were Levi's nights. Friday nights were when Levi went out drinking with the other members of the Survey Corps and Special-Ops Squad of the police force. Since Eren was still a student of the Police Academy, he was banned from such activities until he had received his badge.

(Technically Levi wasn't allowed to go out drinking either, but a few pulled strings from Oluo quickly changed that. No one challenged the deputy officer.)

Eren quickly found out what type of drunk Levi was the first time he came home from one of these drinking nights. Erwin had showed up at the front door of at night supporting the officer against his shoulder.

"He's all yours," Erwin had simply said, and heaved Levi into Eren's arms. Eren stumbled, taking on the full weight of the officer (who was heavier than he looked), and could only stare at Erwin, who hiccupped before excusing himself and leaving the apartment.

Apparently, Levi was an angry drunk.

"Unhand me, shitty brat," Levi had slurred once the front door had closed, his voice dangerously low.

"You're drunk…you can barely walk," Eren had replied, gesturing towards Levi's shaking legs.

Wrong answer.

The rest of the night had been hell. First, Levi had punched Eren in the gut for not letting him go (and promptly crumbled to the floor after realizing he couldn't stand on his own). He then proceeded to complain about every little thing he saw wrong with the apartment ("Why are the plates not stacked correctly?" "Why aren't the clothes folded?" "_Goddammit Eren,_ I will handcuff you to a broom if I have to; CLEAN THE DAMN FLOOR!") And the next morning, Eren would have to deal with Levi's severe hangovers and even worse attitude.

(Luckily Levi would always apologize for his harsh behavior during the week…the problem was, he never remembered what he did when he was drunk, so he didn't really know what he was apologizing for).

Eren dealt with this every week.

So it was no surprise that at exactly two minutes before midnight, a familiar knock on the door roused Eren from his nap. The academy student walked to the door, preparing for another round of more-bitchy-than-usual-Levi.

Surprisingly, it was Hanji who supported the drunk officer when Eren opened the door. And she was grinning.

"Have fun," she said slyly, handing him off to Eren before she literally skipped out the front door.

As the door slammed, Levi groaned. Eren jolted, remembering that he was holding his half-conscious superior, and hastily half-carried, half-dragged Levi to the couch in the middle of the living room. He gently laid the police officer onto the soft cushions and took a step back to survey what state Levi was in this time.

Flushed cheeks, slightly sweaty.

Okay, nothing Eren wasn't used to seeing.

(Because Levi came home drunk all of the time! Not anything else!)

"I'll get you some water," Eren told Levi quietly, who groaned again. As Eren filled a glass with water, he couldn't help but notice that no harsh insults or commands had been hurled his way yet. Granted, it had only been 5 minutes, but that was already a record in itself. He padded on over back to the couch and moved to help Levi sit up.

"I can sit up by myself, brat," Levi quipped, but silently took the glass of water, gulping it down.

_CRASH!_

The glass hit the floor as Levi's eyes widened considerably. Eren yelped, scrambling from the couch to sweep up the mess before Levi noticed what he had done to the floor.

"Are you okay?" Eren asked as he swept up the glass. Apparently not- Levi wasn't answering; his fingers were now clenching the couch cushions as he seemed to be glaring intently at the wall.

"Hey, Eren," he suddenly mumbled. Eren halted, dustpan in one hand and broom in the other.

"Come here."

Gulping, Eren cautiously bent down to Levi's level.

"I'm going to arrest you for spilling that water," the officer hissed, pulling the hem of Eren's shirt down so that they were eye-level. Alarms went off in Eren's head as he quickly backed away from the other. Levi stood up on his own and slowly approached Eren, snatching the broom from his hands and holding it an arm's length away from himself.

"You're under arrest," he told the broom, dead serious.

And then Levi _giggled._

5 minutes later, Eren was frantically dialing Hanji's number. The scientist picked up the phone after the second beep.

"Hey, Eren! Having fun over there?" Hanji said. It sounded like she was trying to hold in a laugh.

"Hanji, what did you _do_ to him!?" Eren shrieked, watching helplessly as the super-drunk Levi started slicing through the air with a broom as if it were a sword.

"I may have whipped up a little concoction for experimentation," Hanji's mischievous voice answered from the other line, "I slipped it into his drink earlier. Tell me, has he started hallucinating yet?"

"I think he already is," Eren moaned as Levi told a lamp that it was under arrest for not being clean whilst waving the broom back and forth.

"Oh goodie!" came Hanji's slurred voice, "I can't believe that…that…one drop can do so much!"

"THIS IS JUST ONE DROP!?" Eren roared into the phone before freezing. Levi had disappeared.

"One drop…one teaspoon…one pint...it's all the same!" giggled Hanji, who then hiccupped.

"Hanji, are you _drunk_?" Eren asked, incredulous.

"Just a little tipsy—whoooaaa!" A crash from the other line before it went dead.

Eren smacked his forehead with the hand not holding the dustpan. Of _course_ Hanji would do something like this. Heck, she had even used Eren for one of her experiments which had involved a feather, a treadmill, and lots of lemonade.

"Eren," Levi's voice broke through Eren's train of thought.

_Here we go, _the other thought, turning around to face his living nightmare.

Wait.

_Oh._

_My._

_God._

Levi stood in front of him, arms crossed. He was all decked out in his police uniform, except his pants were rolled up _way_ too high, revealing the milky skin of his thighs. A pair of gleaming handcuffs was dangling from his teeth. Eren felt the heat rise to his face as he took in his superior's appearance, trying to avoid the other's intense gaze.

Oh, but that wasn't the worst of it.

Levi was standing eye-level with Eren. The sudden change of height caused Eren to trail his eyes down Levi's body until he reached his feet. There, dazzling in all of their glory, were a pair of sequined red ruby high heels. Levi walked forward, heels clicking against the tiled floor.

Eren choked as Levi uncrossed his arms and slowly wrapped them around Eren's shoulders, running his fingers up and down the hairs on the back of Eren's neck.

"Dance with me," he tried to slur sexily, except the handcuffs were still in his mouth so it sounded more like "Danth wuth muuuuh."

Eren could only stand there, mortified, as Levi brought his face closer, his dark obsidian locks brushing against Eren's cheek. His mouth opened, releasing the handcuffs. Eren held his breath.

"I'm going to handcuff your sexy little ass to my bed," Levi whispered in his ear, expression completely calm. Blood rushed to Eren's face as he stuttered, trying to pull the other off of him. This only prompted Levi to press closer, his torso and waist flush against Eren's.

"L-Levi…let go," Eren pleaded half-heartedly, but Levi would have none of it. Suddenly his face was coming closer to Eren's; his lips opened slightly as eyes closed, revealing dark long lashes fluttering as his lips touched Eren's-

"ARRGHGH!"

In his moment of lust, Levi had taken another step forward, sinking his heels right into Eren's foot and causing both of them to tumble backwards onto the floor.

"Are you okay?" Eren groaned as the full weight of Levi kept him pinned to the floor. Levi didn't respond, his face buried into Eren's shoulder. He was breathing deeply.

"Levi?"

Again, no answer. Levi must have fallen asleep.

_Dammit._

Eren sighed, bringing a hand up to stroke Levi's hair as he tried to ignore the fact that their waists were still pressing against each other and that Levi's pants had somehow impossibly ridden up even more. He was too tired to try to lift the officer, so Eren settled for their position on the floor, bringing his other hand to gently embrace Levi. Exhaustion from the crazy night's events finally overcoming his senses, Eren finally succumbed to sweet slumber.

The next morning, he was awoken by an angry Levi chucking the pair of heels at his head, muttering, "Keep your weird fetishes to yourself, shitty brat."

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*giggles mischievously* I hope you liked it! X3 Reviews are always appreciated-more reviews means quicker updates!

Until next time,

-Jay


	3. Speak No Evil

Hey guys! I'm here with another oneshot-this time it's JeanXMarco. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: Don't own these two. asjkdgsbdghfbg**

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**Speak No Evil**

Prince Jean Kirstein hated birthdays, especially his own.

Each year his parents would go overboard with the celebrations: pretty much every person of nobility in the kingdom would be invited to the castle for a glorious dinner and dance, followed by hours of what the King and Queen called "entertainment," in which townspeople who were not of noble rank from the outer Wall Maria would perform various acts such as singing, storytelling, and magic tricks in hopes of becoming a jester and living in the castle.

In other words: Prince Jean was pretty much confined to his throne for the entirety of the party. He hated dancing, he hated hearing the giggles from the daughters of noblemen who were only interested in his status, and he _hated _jesters! Somehow he was supposed to appreciate watching all of his citizens having fun and dancing when he couldn't do a damn thing.

"Maybe it will be different this year," his friend (eternal rival) Eren Jeager had told him during one of Jean's tutoring sessions, "Turning thirteen only happens once, you know. And now you can choose who you want to marry and have lots of childr-!"

At this point Jean had whacked the boy with one of the scrolls he was supposed to copying arithmetic onto and earned a harsh scolding from Eren's father, who served as a tutor and doctor for the royal family members. Jean hated the tutor's son with a passion—whatever marks Jean received for his studies, Eren always ranked just a few points higher—and Jean was forced to tolerate the other's presence as both he and Eren were forced to receive tutoring for reading and arithmetic on a weekly basis.

Jean secretly had a small crush on Eren's sister, Mikasa, but marrying her would be out of the question—he certainly didn't want to have Eren as a brother!

But he did have hope. Becoming a teenager was a big step, and maybe his parents would grant him more liberties at the party. Maybe he'd even be able to drink the ale!

However, all hopes and dreams the prince had went tumbling out the window once the big day actually hit. He was once again confined to his throne, overlooking his "loyal subjects" (more like rich butt-kissers) laugh and dance and have a jolly good time.

"Why can't I join them?" he huffed to his mother, crossing his arms.

"You're of age now sweetie, you must show your subjects how mature you've grown! You're going to be their next ruler, after all," the queen responded, chuckling and ruffling his hair.

The prince sighed and sank into his chair, dreading the hours to come.

One feast and three dances later Jean was ready to fall asleep. The king and queen had already given their speeches (Jean had stuttered through his own about being a responsible future ruler and stuff like that), and now the entertainment portion of the evening was to begin. Sitting up in his chair, he could see a long line of people anxiously waiting for their turn to perform for the prince.

Groan.

Jean signed and leaned back in his chair once more, getting ready to cover his ears when the first performer claimed to be the best singer in the kingdom. The man barely sang for 10 seconds before the prince waved his hand, signaling for the next performer to come up.

This process went on for another painful hour, with no potential candidates for the jester position. Jean finally saw an opening for escape when some of the servants began setting up for a magic trick, blocking his throne from view. He clambered from his seat, keeping his head low as he tried to inch his way through the crowd of people looking curiously at the display being set up in the middle of the room. Excitement coursed through him as he spotted the door to the ballroom growing closer and closer; all he had to do was reach out his arm annnnddd—

_CRASH_

In his excitement he had failed to notice the boy who had entered the room, and was sent reeling to the floor when he promptly collided with him. For a split second, all Jean could see were two terrified dark eyes accompanied by a freckled nose before Jean wrinkled his nose in disgust, pushing himself off of the boy.

Brushing out the wrinkles in his clothes, the prince surveyed the room only to discover that everyone had gone completely silent, their attention now focused on the two boys. He could see his mother staring at him with wide eyes, her hands frozen in the act of cutting a piece of chicken. Beside the queen, his father's eyes had narrowed considerably.

_Well_, Jean thought, gulping, _time to reclaim my dignity._ He looked one more time at his father before returning his attention to the boy in front of him.

"Who are you?" the prince demanded, drawing himself to his full height. To his dismay the boy was already a bit taller than him; standing on his toes would only look embarrassing. "Apologize at once!"

"Please, sire, he's mute," an old man beside him pleaded, his old frame trembling.

"…You mean he does not speak?" Jean asked slowly, eyes widening. The old man sighed, closing his eyes.

"Yes. He's been like this since the day he was born, I'm afraid," he said sadly, "I bring him here today because I have no other choice. I am afraid my days are numbered, and there will be no one else to take care of him when I am gone. I beg you, my Prince, please give him a chance."

"What can he possibly do that will earn him a place in this castle?" Jean asked without skipping a beat. He had heard all of the sob stories before and had no problem turning the others away. This one would be no different.

However, the old man smiled.

"You must see for yourself, sire. I promise that you will not be disappointed."

Jean crossed his arms and glanced at his father once more, who nodded.

"You!" the prince shouted, pointing to one of the servants, "I wish to watch this boy's performance without the presence of our guests. Remove everyone from the room and clear the way for the boy!" The servant nodded, terrified, and began hurriedly gesturing for people to leave. Some of the elders huffed, muttering curses about the prince still acting like a child, but Jean ignored them, instead surveying the two commoners who had entered the room. They certainly looked too poor to live even amongst the outer walls, so how did they manage to get past the guards?

Jean sauntered up back to his throne in the middle of the room. Surprisingly, his parents had risen from their seats and were walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" he blurted out. His mother smiled.

"You're thirteen now, son. Surely you can handle the responsibility of picking your own jester by yourself now," his father said, winking, before the two filed out leaving the prince, the boy, and the old man.

"Are you his father?" Jean asked, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over the room.

"That I am, Your Majesty," the old man replied, smiling weakly.

"Where do you hail from? Surely not from any of the three walls. How did you manage to enter the castle?" Jean fired round after round of questions. However, the old man's smile grew.

"I merely had my son perform what you are about to see, sire," he said, a glint in his eye. Jean regarded the man carefully.

"And you say your days are numbered," he finished slowly.

"That they are…"

"I'll make you a bargain," Jean said, linking his fingers together and resting his chin upon them. He might as well start off his teenagerdom with a daring risk, right? "If this boy manages to impress me, you will both live here and receive the care you need from our doctor here in the castle. Leave us for now, please."

The old man bowed with a tear in his eye before exiting the room, leaving only the prince and the freckled boy. Jean let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, and relaxed. He was still apprehensive about talking to his elders, but surely he could handle this boy.

"So what's your name?" the prince began before mentally slapping himself when the other gave him a confused look while pointing to his mouth and shaking his head.

"Uhhh, wait, I think I have some parchment over here somewhere," Jean mumbled, looking on the table next to him—there it was! Smiling triumphantly, he handed the piece of parchment and a quill dipped in ink to the mute boy.

The smile quickly turned into a frown when the other simply stared at the items in his hands helplessly. Jean sighed.

"Can you write?" he asked slowly.

The boy shook his head.

Jean groaned. This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

"Well can you read?" he asked as a last resort. To his relief, the other nodded excitedly, a smile finally lighting up his features.

"Good!" the prince said before snatching away the quill and parchment and startling the other. Jean slammed the parchment down onto the table and began scribbling frantically, ignoring how the other boy seemed completely and utterly captivated by what Jean was doing. The only sound that could be heard for a few moments was the scratching of the quill as the prince wrote.

"There!" the prince exclaimed proudly, holding up the parchment once he had finished, "The alphabet!"

At the other's confused look, he laid out the parchment on the table for the boy to see.

"Point to the letters that make your name," he instructed, and the other nodded, turning his gaze to the parchment. He lifted a shaking hand, and with his finger, slowly touched some of the letters while Jean wrote them down.

_Marco Bodt_ was what Jean had written down once the freckled boy had finished. Jean mentally congratulated himself for being a genius, before smirking at the other. "So you are named Marco, then?"

Marco nodded vigorously, beaming.

"Well then, Marco, you have captured my attention. Congratulations. What are you going to show me to prove your worth as a jester?" the prince asked, reclaiming his place on the throne. Marco made a motion with his hand to wait, and ran to the door, opening it just a peek so that the old man's face appeared. The old man handed something to Marco before the doors slammed shut again.

Marco carefully made his way up the steps again, carrying a violin and bow. Jean's eyes widened—he had never had a musician come to perform for him before. And that instrument looked exquisite. The wood was perfectly polished, as if someone had spent hours cleaning every last bit of grime off of it, the hair of the bow full and looking not a day old.

He motioned for the boy to come forward, and when he did Jean looked inside the f-holes of the violin to find the maker.

_Utopia District, Year xxxx_

Jean's heart nearly stopped—an instrument of such fine craftsmanship, and from his own district! How had Marco been able to get a hold of this treasured relic? He realized then how important this instrument must be to Marco—it was probably the only thing of worth the boy owned.

"Play for me," he demanded, "Make the violin makers here in Wall Sina proud."

Marco nodded and placed the violin on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, positioning his bow right above the strings, and began to play.

It was the most beautiful sound Jean had ever heard in his 13 years of life. Marco practically _glowed_ as he played, the sweet tone of his playing filling the room and washing over everything. Jean was unable to see, hear, or breathe; just focus on the sound of music he never wanted to end. Marco's fingers danced across the fingerboard, his eyes closed as his fingers produced a rich vibrato on the lower register notes before shifting his hand and barely touching the higher notes on the thinnest string, the notes nothing but little wisps of air floating freely from the instrument.

Marco wasn't playing music, he was setting it free.

When he finished, Jean felt strangely empty, as if he had gone on a great journey and returned without remembering a single thing that happened. He could only remember the remarkable feeling that overwhelmed his senses.

"Where did you learn to play like that?" he breathed.

"He taught himself since he was a little boy," the old man's voice answered from the door. He had peeked in while Marco was playing, and now tears ran freely down his face, "And has played every day since. This is how Marco speaks, Your Majesty. It's the only way he knows how to."

Marco nodded with a sad smile gracing his features.

Jean slowly stood from his throne, descended down the steps, and stood in front of the boy.

"You possess remarkable talent," he declared, "And I may only be thirteen, but I am well aware that musicians like you only come around once in a lifetime."

He suddenly grabbed Marco by the arm, dragging him towards the door. To his surprise, not only was the old man waiting behind the doors, so was the rest of the palace! Jean reddened, suddenly aware of the hundreds of people looming over him, but shook his head and raised the boy's arm with his own.

"I have chosen this musician, Marco Bodt, to be my new jester!" he announced in the most princely voice he could muster, "He and his father shall reside in the castle and I expect them to treated with the upmost respect!"

He could feel Marco trembling in his grasp as generous applause filled the entire castle, praising the mute violinist who had been able to speak to the most powerful teenager in the land through the gift of music.

* * *

I hope you guys liked it! I may continue this sort of arc in the future; I think it could go places...let me know what you think!

Please review! Reviews make me happy. And they make chapters come faster. hehehehe

Until next time,

-Jay


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